


I Can't Remember When

by MilesHibernus



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes as Captain America, HYDRA Trash Party, M/M, Rape, Steve Rogers as the Winter Soldier, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-08 22:04:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6875452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MilesHibernus/pseuds/MilesHibernus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of the highway fight, Hydra decides not to kill Captain America right away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Can't Remember When

When Bucky woke up he didn't know where he was, but he could tell well before he opened his eyes that he wasn't gonna like it; he was lying on a very cold floor and his hands were cuffed behind him...which might have been superfluous, because the nagging itch of the metal arm's feedback was gone. They'd taken his arm, leaving him with the wasted flesh he'd lost to Schmidt's goddamn raygun.

Then it dawned on him that the floor was so cold because there was nothing between him and it. He was naked, naked as the day he was born.

Bucky's stomach heaved. He hadn't felt sick since the last of Zola's poison sweated out of his pores, but maybe that gas was related because now he felt like he was gonna puke.

"He's awake," said a voice—Rumlow, the traitorous fuck, _not personal_ Bucky's bare ass—and a boot nudged him in the thigh. "Come on, Cap, rise and shine."

Bucky pried his eyes open and glared. The effect was probably spoiled a bit by the fact that it took him a few seconds to focus, but he gave it the old college try. Rumlow was grinning at him. The room was a cell, maybe twenty feet on a side, not quite crowded with Bucky and six members of STRIKE; one wall was bars, because of fucking course there were bars, and on the other side was a central clear space with other cells lining it.

Bucky opened his mouth but no words came out until he closed it again and worked up some spit. "Barnes, James," he croaked when he could. "Sergeant. Three-two-five-five-seven-oh-three-eight." Because fuck being a captain and fuck his SHIELD badge number, and fuck _SHIELD_ for that matter.

"You got the wrong idea," Rumlow said cheerfully. "We're not planning to ask you anything."

Bucky's stomach flipped over. He lurched, trying to sit up, and Rumlow stepped out of range—quickly, but not looking like he was panicked about it. It turned out that Bucky's handcuffs were attached to a chain in the floor; he had just enough slack that he could sit up, but even with his hands in front of him he wouldn't have been able to stand straight. "If Pierce wants to know about Fury, this ain't the way to find out," Bucky said.

"Screw Fury," Rumlow said. "This isn't gonna be for information, Cap. This is just for fun."

Bucky must've been more out of it than he thought, because he hadn't heard a door opening, just the sound of Alexander Pierce's voice. "I'm not sure 'fun' is the word, commander. More like just desserts."

Bucky turned his head the little bit he needed to get a square look. Pierce stood on the other side of the bars, his hands casually in his pockets. The Winter Soldier loomed at his shoulder at perfect parade rest, a hulking shadow in his black leather. His dark blond hair hung around his face and blue eyes stared over the muzzle-like mask. He wasn't watching Bucky.

Pierce was, a tiny smile playing around his lips. "I told you you'd regret it, Captain," he said affably.

Bucky looked him up and down, turned till he was looking straight ahead again, and repeated, "Barnes, James. Sergeant. Three-two-five-five-seven-oh-three-eight." Out of the corner of his eye, Pierce looked unmoved. The Winter Soldier's attention shifted, however, as if speaking had made Bucky worthy of notice.

"Well," Pierce said, "this should be entertaining to watch. Soldat: Protocol П. Don't kill him."

The Winter Soldier, it seemed, knew the code for the cell door. He advanced on Bucky in unhurried strides.

Bucky wasn’t exactly in a great tactical position, was the problem; sitting cross-legged with his hands chained to the floor didn’t leave him a lot of room to maneuver, and he was positive the Winter Soldier would be able to read any attempt he made to improve his odds. Nor was he sure he believed them when they said they weren’t after intel; if nothing else, he knew when and where he’d told Sam and Nat to meet him.

But damned if he was gonna entertain fucking Hydra any more than he absolutely had to, so he stayed where he was, staring at Rumlow’s shock-stick holster, until the Winter Soldier stepped into his line of sight.

He just stood there for several seconds, long enough for Bucky to get a very good look at the bulk of him, and then his hands went to his belt. Bucky found himself fascinated by the movement of the Soldier’s fingers as they danced through opening his trousers.

It was be fascinated or feel sick again, and the Winter Soldier had surprisingly graceful hands for a man his size; Bucky could picture them holding a pencil or a stick of charcoal, sketching in the first lines of a portrait. Even the black leather half-fingered gloves would work, the kind of thing you bought to wear around the house when you had bad circulation and the radiators were off till you could scrape together this month’s rent.

The Winter Soldier’s cock was just as impressively sized as the rest of him. He stepped forward, pulling a knife as he did. There was no showy little flip, just the businesslike presentation of the weapon.

“Barnes, James,” Bucky started.

“<Why do you say that,>” the Soldier asked him. His voice had no particular inflection, not even a rise at the end to make a proper question, but the sound of it sent shivers down Bucky’s spine.

His Russian wasn’t good enough to phrase the answer, so he responded in English, “Because that’s what soldiers say when they’re bein’ tortured.”

There was no response, and Bucky couldn’t see the Soldier’s face well enough to read his expression. His empty hand curved around the back of Bucky’s head, the best control he was likely get with Bucky’s hair too short to grab. “<Open,>” the man said. Bucky swallowed and stared ahead, trying not to attach any meaning to the fact that someone’s cock was inches from his face.

He saw the blow coming but couldn’t move enough to do more than mitigate it. His lip split. As he was recovering, his head ringing, the Winter Soldier’s hand settled on his shoulder and he felt the merest bite of the blade of the knife over his carotid. “<Open,>” the Soldier said again, and this time Bucky did.

It wasn’t that Bucky’d never sucked anyone’s cock before, even aside from Steve. Keeping Steve alive hadn’t been a cheap proposition some years, and Bucky wasn’t vain but he knew perfectly well what he looked like, what people were willing to pay for. Some of the guys who hung around the Navy Yards had liked to get a little rough, too.

This was something else again.

The Winter Soldier was at least as strong as Bucky was, maybe stronger without the metal arm, and he had all the leverage. His cock started out soft but it didn’t stay that way for long, and soon Bucky was choking on every thrust, gagging helplessly. He could barely breathe, snatching sips of air. His nose didn’t swell up from battering against the Winter Soldier’s pelvis, at least; that was one thing being a freak was good for, but it didn’t help much when the man’s cock physically blocked his airway. He could taste the blood of his split lip under the faint scent of the Soldier’s sweat, warm and clean; he smelled much better than Bucky would have expected. Bucky had to wrestle down the urge to bite, the threat of the knife ever-present, moving perfectly with them, never a hair out of place even when the Soldier’s thrusts turned erratic.

When he came it was silently and shallow, spilling over Bucky’s tongue. The taste wasn’t sickening either. Bucky didn’t move as the Soldier stepped back, rearranging himself as he did. Bucky looked up and met the man’s eyes deliberately before he spat. The mess hit exactly where he’d aimed it, on the laces of the Winter Soldier’s right boot.  He held the Soldier’s eyes and got as far as _Sergeant_ before the punch knocked him over.

He landed hard and on his left arm, and the nerves lit up with pain. The muscles didn’t work anymore (and it showed; his right arm was twice the diameter these days) but some of the nerves did, and they didn’t take well to sudden shocks. Bucky bit down on the scream that wanted to force its way out, managing to keep it to a strangled grunt. Someone laughed: Rollins. Bucky’d never liked Rollins.

The Winter Soldier loomed over him and bent down as Rumlow said, “Finally someone who can make you keep your smart mouth shut, Cap.” The Soldier grabbed him by the neck and hauled him back up to his knees. Bucky was tempted to just go limp but it occurred to him that he didn’t know what they might have in here suitable for keeping reluctant prisoners upright, and hanging from his wrists would make his left arm very, very unhappy. So he went with it, and only swayed a little. “You sure did look pretty choking on a dick, though,” Rumlow went on.

Bucky rolled his eyes in Rumlow’s direction and said, “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll get a turn.”

Rumlow’s eyebrows went up. “Didn’t know you were gaggin’ for it that hard, Cap, or I’da offered.”

The Winter Soldier said flatly, “<Shut up,>” and Rumlow nodded in agreement. One thing you had to say for Rumlow, he knew how to follow orders. Still a traitorous fuck, though.

“I meant you’d get to suck it too,” Bucky said. The Winter Soldier slapped him hard. He rolled with it as best he could and worked his jaw. “Gotta keep the pet monster happy, right?” Another slap. Bucky shook his head. His nose was bleeding. Any normal person would be halfway to unconscious by now, and Bucky kind of envied them.

“The Asset doesn’t need to be happy,” said Pierce’s cool voice. “The Asset does as it’s told. Step things up a little, Soldat.”

Instead of replying the Winter Soldier knelt at Bucky’s side, leaning over. He must have had a key because Bucky could feel movement as the Soldier unchained his hands. He was still cuffed, but he was gonna take not being attached to the floor anymore as an advantage.

He threw his head back, connecting with the Soldier’s face with a satisfying thud, and lunged to his feet. The STRIKE guys seemed taken aback and Bucky dove for the nearest, Westfahl, in the moment of startlement. He bowled him over with a shoulder to the chest and looped his bound hands under the man’s boot before he’d quite hit the floor, which gave him the leverage he needed to yank.

It hurt his left arm like hell but it was worth it when the handcuff chain parted with a surprisingly audible ping. Bucky scraped for Westfahl’s stun baton—they were at least smart enough that they hadn’t brought any guns into the cell—and whirled into Rumlow, thumbing the charge on as he went. He jammed the shock stick into Rumlow’s ribs and got an unhappy grunt for his trouble, reversed his grip and shoved it into Takahashi’s face for a scream, and Bucky was just thinking that this was going remarkably well when the Winter Soldier pulled his foot right out from under him.

Bucky crashed down and landed on his left arm again, but he couldn’t let it stop him. He kicked but only grazed the side of the Soldier’s head, thanks to some very good reflexes, like he needed any more confirmation that the Winter Soldier was a freak too. He rolled and the Soldier’s grip loosened with the twist. Bucky scrambled to his feet, his left arm hanging useless, and just managed to catch the Winter Soldier’s charge; he bent his knees, grabbed the Soldier by the neck, and threw him over his thigh, which was great except he dropped the stun baton in the process.

The Winter Soldier went into a roll, but he lost his mask along the way, the abused strap giving up the ghost. He came to his feet. He turned back to where Bucky crouched, waiting for the STRIKE team to rush him. Bucky got his first good look at the Winter Soldier’s face.

A roaring filled his ears.

He felt himself straightening up and didn’t even clutch at his bad arm to keep it still the way he usually did.

“Steve?” he said, heard himself say from a long, long way away. “It's me, Steve. It’s Bucky.”

The Winter Soldier frowned, just slightly. When he spoke, it was in English. “Who the hell is Bucky?”

One of the STRIKE guys muttered _Holy shit_ and that seemed to snap Steve’s stillness. Bucky remembered he should try to fend him off just in time to get caught in the worst possible position when Steve hit him like a battering ram, leather-covered shoulder to the solar plexus and no way to cushion his head when they hit.

“Steve,” Bucky wheezed, and Steve’s fist came out of nowhere, snapping his head to the side and into the floor so hard it was like being hit twice. Bucky was still blinking and shaking his head when the crushing weight left his hips and then he was rolling, face-down, one of Steve’s hands on the back of his head. Bucky tried to get his hand under him to push up but Steve brought one knee down into his left forearm, all the weight of a tall, muscular man behind it. The abused nerves screamed and Bucky did too, an unabashed howl into the concrete.

Still in English, Steve said, “Move again and I’ll break it.” Bucky gasped for air and tried to go limp. Steve eased up enough that the arm was still pinned but no longer crushed, and for a second Bucky had no idea what was going to happen next.

Then he felt Steve’s free hand sliding down his back, over the curve of his ass.

“Steve, don’t,” he said, couldn’t stop himself from saying. Steve’s grip on the back of his head loosened and Bucky raised it, only to have it promptly smashed back down. His nose broke with a brisk little snap that he felt more than heard.

“Shut up,” Steve said.

No: the Winter Soldier said. There was nothing of Steve in that emotionless voice. His hand moved again, searching, and Bucky shuddered as two fingers breached him with no care.

Bucky knew it was possible to fuck a man to death. He suspected he wasn’t going to be so lucky; he was too much of a freak.  On the other hand, they undoubtedly intended to shoot him once they’d had their fun, so there was that to look forward to.

The Soldier probed into him for several minutes while Bucky tried to breathe around his broken nose and ignore his entire body. At least the Soldier seemed to have no interest in making him enjoy this; he wasn’t trying to find the sweet spot, just stretching with passionless efficiency. It hurt, though Bucky knew damn well it could have hurt a lot more.

Finally the Winter Soldier moved, collecting both Bucky’s hands and twisting them up into the center of his back to hold them firmly down with one of his own. He settled between Bucky’s thighs, blocking the reflexive inward twitch with his own legs. “Give me that,” he ordered; one of the STRIKE team moved to obey. Bucky couldn’t see the transfer.

He felt something hard and cold settle against him and press in, and Bucky was just realizing it was a goddamn stun baton when the Winter Soldier flicked it on.

Through his tac suit, a stun baton was annoyingly painful. On the unshielded flesh of his insides, it was white agony, so all-consuming he couldn’t even hear himself screaming. Bucky thrashed against the floor in a mindless attempt to get away, but the Winter Soldier controlled him with no apparent effort. After endless seconds the Soldier turned off the charge and Bucky subsided, breathing in desperate shudders. Someone was laughing, the warm chuckle of a man whose team had just made a great play.

Bucky knew he’d never know how long it went on, the Winter Soldier fucking him with the stun baton and turning on the charge at unpredictable intervals. He screamed every time, but he didn’t dare beg for it to stop, because asking Steve for mercy and being denied would break him. He couldn’t break; he had to live through this, he had to get to Steve somehow. He couldn’t die until he’d gotten Steve out.

So he screamed and struggled—which drew no further punishment, the Winter Soldier seemed to understand it was an involuntary reaction—and panted for breath when he could, and the small eternity finally passed. The stun baton was withdrawn and Bucky heard the tiny clack of it being set on the floor, and then the rustling of the Soldier’s pants being opened again. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hot face into the cold floor, clinging to the idea that at least it wouldn’t hurt as much.

He didn’t expect gentle, and he didn’t get it. But as the Winter Soldier slammed into him, his hand tightened on Bucky’s wrists in a tiny double squeeze. Steve had always done that, no matter which of them was taking it, and Bucky couldn't help the despairing moan.

He couldn’t stand the hot weight on his back; it made him want to scream, made him want to throw up. No one spoke, though Bucky thought he could hear the sounds of a couple of the STRIKE guys with their hands down their pants. He wondered how anyone could stand to watch what St—the Winter Soldier was doing, much less get off on it.  
  
He was grateful, in a way, that there was no chance of him getting any pleasure out of this. He was too sore, too abused, and it hurt like hell, enough to make tears leak from his eyes, but he could have handled it if it hadn’t been Steve. Steve who was hurting him, Steve who was violating him, and who didn’t care. He gritted his teeth and didn’t let himself sob.  
  
It took longer, the second time. Bucky tried not to compare it to what Steve had been like before, and even mostly succeeded; there were no more affectionate gestures to steel himself against, at least. The Winter Soldier fucked him mechanically, with no evidence of passion or even enjoyment, nothing more than his breathing getting faster with exertion. Bucky concentrated on the ache in his shoulders from the awkward position of his arms. But he couldn’t miss it when the Soldier’s breath caught, and Bucky had to stifle the noise he wanted to make, because he knew that sound, knew it meant that Steve was close, and Jesus he’d thought Steve was _dead_.  
  
Finally the Soldier’s rhythm faltered into hard, irregular thrusts. Bucky felt the orgasm break out of him and the Soldier ground against him, failing to hold up his own weight for a long moment where there was no sound in the room but harsh breathing, the Soldier’s and Bucky’s both. Then the Winter Soldier shifted, pulling out, standing; Bucky thought about turning over but the Soldier planted one booted foot in the small of his back.  
  
That laugh again, and this time Bucky could identify it: Pierce. Pierce was laughing at him. Without opening his eyes he snarled, “I’ll kill you all, do you understand me? I will _kill you._ ” His aching throat roughened his voice but he didn’t care, the words came out and that was all that mattered.  
  
“That seems ungrateful,” Pierce said, his voice rich with amusement. “After we reunited you with your long-lost lover, too. I was just going to have you killed, but it didn’t seem right for you to die without ever knowing.”  
  
“What the hell did you do to him?” Bucky could not imagine anything that would make Steve do this. Not Steve, never Steve. He could imagine himself very easily; he was the one who’d been able to slit a sentry’s throat from behind and sleep perfectly well after. But not _Steve_.  
  
“We saved him,” Pierce said. “Which I note is more than the SSR did.”  
  
“If we didn’t find him it was because you found him first.” There hadn’t been many people to spare from the raid on the last base, but Bucky knew Phillips had kept looking for weeks after Bucky himself had gone down with the _Valkyrie_. It was one of the things Fury had put in the files for him.  
  
“Finders keepers,” said Pierce, and from the tone of his voice Bucky knew he was shrugging. “Soldat: secure him.”  
  
The Winter Soldier had the STRIKE team bring him more handcuffs, heavy ones this time, the metal an inch thick or better. He chained Bucky to the eyebolt again and then just walked out of the cell, taking up his position at Pierce’s shoulder silently.  
  
“We’ll be back in the morning to take you to the roof,” Pierce said. “You can watch the Insight launch.” His smile was broad and charming and so much like Steve’s that Bucky tasted bile. “At least the first few minutes of it.”  
  
“If I ever see you again you’re a dead man,” Bucky said flatly.  
  
“People have told me that before,” Pierce said, and turned away from the bars. Over his shoulder he said, “Have fun, boys.” The Winter Soldier trailed him out of the cell block.  
  
“Alone at last,” said Rumlow, and Bucky bared his teeth.

* * *

By the time STRIKE left, summoned by Pierce, Bucky’s left arm was broken just above the elbow and he had a collection of rapidly-darkening bruises. His eyes were probably black from the broken nose. He carefully didn’t think about any of his other pains.  
  
On the other hand, Rumlow wasn’t going to be walking straight for a week, Hansen had tooth marks in his forearms that went nearly to the bone, and Westfahl’d be lucky if he didn’t lose an eye, so Bucky felt pretty good about himself, all in all.  
  
That lasted until they’d trooped out, leaving him with his hands still chained to the floor. There weren’t a lot of comfortable positions to take and none of them let him support the broken arm. He ended up cross-legged again, hunched over the bolt in the floor and trying to remember the trick of dozing without falling over.  
  
With his arm, he could have ripped the chain out of the eyebolt—Tony had designed the thing, nothing from the hardware store was going to stand up to it. But of course Bucky had told Rumlow the emergency release code for the arm, in case it needed to come off in the field, and of course the traitorous fuck had used it. And without the metal...Bucky was a freak, he was stronger than any person had a right to be, but he wasn’t the goddamn Hulk.  
  
He wondered if they were going to send the Winter Soldier back in the morning to escort him to his death. If not he might have a chance to break free—but what good would that do, with Insight in the air? He had to believe Sam and Natasha would be working on stopping it, he had to believe they’d be able to avoid the Winter Soldier; surely Pierce wouldn’t waste the Soldier on a prisoner just for spite…  
  
That was when Bucky realized he was crying, silently, pain and despair and fear conspiring to overwhelm him. He kept his head down, in case there were cameras in here he couldn’t see, and sniffled as quietly as he could. He really wanted to blow his nose.  
  
He didn’t think about Steve.  
  
He didn’t think about Steve.  
  
In the silent cell block the sound of the door opening and booted feet crossing to his bars was loud. Bucky didn’t look up. There was a pause before the sound of the keypad caught his attention. Bucky raised his head as Rumlow shoved the cell door open with surprising urgency.  
  
“Back for more, you fuck?” Bucky asked, trying to sound bored. “Go on, get where I can reach you. I fucking dare you.”  
  
“Cap, no,” Rumlow said. He swept his hand over his face and a lattice of golden light shimmered over it, revealing darker skin beneath. Bucky gaped. The man’s voice wavered as he said, “It’s me, OK, I’m here to get you out,” and by the time he was done speaking his voice was Sam’s. He dropped into a crouch, his hands spread out, his eyes flicking rapidly over Bucky’s body, assessing. There was no way he wasn’t putting the hints together, but Bucky was too flabbergasted to care. “Cap. Bucky. You hearing me?”  
  
“Sam,” he said dumbly. “Is Nat—"  
  
“In the flesh. Natasha’s fine, she’s meeting us once we’re further out,” Sam said, with a calm that Bucky recognized; that was the calm of a man who was going to fall apart— _later_ , because right now there were things to get done. Sam patted the heavy cuffs. “There keys to these?”  
  
“I don’t think so,” Bucky said, forcing himself to be calm too.  
  
“Well, good thing I brought this,” Sam said, and held up a little gadget that turned out to be a miniature cutting torch.  
  
As they maneuvered so that Sam could get the flame to where it would cut the chain, Bucky said, “They...I saw the Winter Soldier. I saw him without his mask.”  
  
“Yeah?” Sam said, frowning in concentration.  
  
Bucky said, “He’s—I swear I’m not crazy, Sam.”  
  
“Don’t think I said you were,” said Sam. The chain parted. “You want me to try to take these off?”  
  
“Yeah,” Bucky said. “The Winter Soldier, Sam, he’s _Steve_.” Sam froze and looked up to meet Bucky’s eyes. Bucky swallowed. “He’s Steve. I’m sure of it.”  
  
Sam breathed out hard. “OK. OK, but right now we need to get out of here. Can you walk?”  
  
Bucky took a deep breath of his own. “Damn right,” he said.


End file.
